Tomorrow, April 11, would have been my little sister's 44th birthday. Karen was 23 when she died. She had recently graduated from Kennesaw State University with a major in accounting and a minor in computers. She was very intelligent; she had attended college on a partial academic scholarship. Karen had been married for three years, and had confided to us over the phone (when we called her to wish her a happy birthday) that she and her husband Richard planned to try to have a child now that the pressure of college was over. Karen lived in Georgia, fairly close to my parents, while I lived in Florida. (I was a sailor at the time.) My seven-year-old daughter was spending a couple of weeks with my parents in June of 1987 when Karen died, and for some time after that we had to deal with her fears of further loss because Aunt Kay (her name for Karen) had promised to come back the next day and go out for ice cream. We learned not to say to her, "I promise I'll be back."
Why am I saying all this? It's not to engender any tears or sympathy. It is to help raise awareness of the dangers lurking in persistent or recurring pain.
When my sister died, she had been suffering with a wretchedly painful headache for almost a week. Nevertheless, she started for work that Saturday morning, to catch up on some work she had not finished during the week. On the way to work, while driving on a little country road, a blood vessel in her head catastrophically burst. Karen had an undiagnosed brain aneurysm that ruptured, causing almost immediate death. Her foot remained on the accelerator and the car ran along the road in a straight line until the road curved. There was an embankment and the car rolled, throwing her now-dead body out and pinning it underneath.
Her horrible, persistent headache was the primary symptom for her fatal condition. Some people have small aneurysms that never rupture, but Karen was not lucky enough for that. Karen was young--only 23--and healthy, or so we thought. The aneurysm was hidden within her, waiting to strike like some random time bomb, though it had been warning her with its pain for about a week.
So often we humans, especially the younger and healthier ones or the more macho ones, will dismiss even a persistent or recurring pain out of hand. "Oh, it's nothing! Don't worry about it; it will go away. I'm always having these..." headaches, bouts of heartburn, stomach pains--you provide the medical issue.
It's easy to get busy, or to think, "It's such a little thing--I'm sure it's nothing." I have spoken with people who were in their thirties or forties when someone finally persuaded them to go to a doctor about this or that persistent problem, and often they said, "I've always had it. I just figured everyone did, and I was like everybody else." Persistent or recurring medical issues are not normal. We don't all have them.
Men: it's not being strong or masculine to ignore persistent pain. It's being stupid. Go to a doctor! Coach was wrong when he told you to just "suck it up!"
Women: the world will not fall apart if you take time to take care of yourself by having your health checked by a doctor. And when the doctor asks if there is any health issue you have had lately, it's perfectly all right to tell him about it!
Anyone: If you have an unusual pain or condition that persists for more than a couple of days, or that keeps coming back, it is probably a good idea to see a doctor. Maybe you will be lucky and you will catch that little problem before it becomes a much bigger one. Or, maybe you will be even luckier, and you will have spent the insurance co-pay for nothing but peace of mind.
Aneurysms are treatable. My sister would probably be alive now, and her kid(s) would have grown up with mine--but she didn't think she needed to go to the doctor. She just toughed it out.
I miss her, and I wish she had not tried to tough it out. I'd rather be singing Happy Birthday to her tomorrow, than visiting her grave.
Don't tough it out. Have that pain checked out.
Do it for the ones who love you, OK?
I'm sorry for your loss and the advice, given to save someone or their loved ones, pain and grief, if thoughtful and helpful.
Pat H.
Hugs
Chris